


All For You

by MSSmysterygirl



Category: Frozen (2013)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSSmysterygirl/pseuds/MSSmysterygirl
Summary: My sister thinks I don't know where she goes every night.  She thinks I don’t notice when she pulls off her sweatpants and hoodie in the dark of the bedroom, revealing her skimpy clothes underneath. She thinks that I don't know that she's dying inside. But she doesn't know that we're in the same line of work and that everything I do, I do for her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there, lovelies! Welcome to the chaos, again. This story contains all sorts of wonderful warnings — angst, mention of character death (not graphic), sex, discussion of prostitution (also not graphic), depression, all that good stuff. It’s ultimately a happy story about our two favorite sisters, although no incest. They are a tad bit close for sisters but this is actually a Kristanna story. Oh, and a super cute Boxer dog named Sven! XO -MSS

**For chapter warnings, see author's note above.**

**Chapter 1**

My sister thinks I don’t know where she goes every night.  She thinks I’m sound asleep when she quietly slides out of the bed we share in the room with the creaking floorboards, tucking the blankets around me a little extra because our heat got shut off three months ago and we haven’t had the money to get it turned back on again.  She thinks I don’t notice when she pulls off her sweatpants and hoodie in the dark of the bedroom, revealing her skimpy clothes underneath.  She doesn’t know I’ve seen her take her purse, check and make sure her pepper spray and birth control pills are in there, before she silently slips out the door.

My sister thinks I don’t know that she’s dying inside.  She thinks I’m still sound asleep when she tiptoes back in early in the morning hours, when it’s still dark outside but the light is just tinting the horizon and the birds are starting to flutter in the trees.  She thinks I don’t hear her sobbing silently into her pillow after she crawls back in the bed with me.  She thinks I don’t feel her body shaking, see her hands clutching the blanket so tightly that her knuckles are white.  She doesn’t know I hear her being sick in the bathroom sometimes before coming back to bed.

She tells me she’s tired, that she didn’t sleep well.  She tells me she’s just going to lay in bed a little bit longer and then go out and look for work some more.  I tell her ‘that’s fine; that I’m going to go out and see what I can find, and then probably go see Hans for a bit, and maybe see if anyone downtown can spare a few bucks, so don’t worry if I’m not home for a while, okay Elsa?’  And she always says, ‘okay, be careful, baby sister.’ 

But what my sister doesn’t know is that I’m not going to look for work.  I’m not going to see Hans.  I actually already have a job, and what my sister doesn’t know is that she and I are in the same line of work.

* * *

 

We were fourteen and twelve when our parents died.  We didn't have any grandparents and Dad was an only child.  Mom had a sister but she disappeared before we were even born, so it’s not like we really had anywhere to go.  It’s funny how when no one raises a fuss about two kids living on their own, it just kind of flies under the radar of mostly everyone.  So here we are, six years later, still living in the same apartment.  It’s a two bedroom but the one room has a ton of mold in it, so now we just use the other bedroom.  It’s freezing, so we share a bed.  Which is just as well, since we sold the other one.

We have some money, but all we have is what’s left of the savings we managed to compile when Elsa had her job at that bar on Oak street, but after the kitchen caught fire two months ago, they just closed the place and it won’t ever reopen.  So we’re burning through the money we have, and unfortunately some bills just had to go unpaid.  Like the heat, for example.  And it’s fucking freezing in October.  

* * *

 

I leave Elsa in bed.  It takes everything I have.  She looks so helpless there.  It just about breaks my heart, knowing my big sister is putting herself through so much pain just to try and make money to keep us alive.  I’m sure it would break her heart if she knew I was doing the same.  I love her more than anything in the world and I’d do anything to protect her, even though she’s older than me.

It’s cold when I walk to work.  I’m not that cold, though.  Elsa’s _always_ cold.  It’s because she’s so thin, I’m pretty sure.  When I snuggle up to her in the mornings when she comes home, her waist is so tiny that I can almost wrap my arms around her one and a half times.  Her collarbones always show.  I want to turn myself into a giant blanket and wrap around her, hold her tight until she’s warm from the inside out.  I want to turn into a big bubble and surround her, protect her from everything.  But I can’t.  Maybe someday.

I pull open the heavy wooden door in the middle of the brick wall.  The door makes this god-awful sound when you open it.  It’s like the hinges are being tortured and they scream and groan.  Or maybe they’re just mimicking the sounds they hear from inside the building.  

My boss, Ivan, is waiting for me.  He tells me I’m late and that I’d better not be late again, especially not on a day like today because he has someone new for me.  I always tense up when he says shit like that because someone new could either be someone new to _me_ or someone new in general.  I’m the newest girl here, though, so I get literally no say in who or what I do.  I haven’t even been here a month, so I still haven’t gotten paid.  Ivan tells me this guy is a little deviant, but that he’s paid up front, so I’d better be on my best behavior.  I don’t like the sound of that.

Ivan also tells me I’m in the Blue Room today.  I want to glare at him and tell him I’d rather be in any other room than that, because blue is _Elsa’s_ color and I don’t want to even think of her when I’m here.  Yes, she’s always in the back of my mind, but I don’t want to think of her because then I’ll get the image of her doing something similar and I’ll just cry.  That happened once and the client left and never came back.  Ivan yelled at me for half a day after that, so I learned my lesson.  But I have no choice.  The Blue Room is my destiny for today.

Ivan’s new client is a newbie all around.  He’s about fifty, has the most awful beard I’ve ever seen and he smells like onions and dust.  He wants me to pretend to be his daughter, which is just all kinds of fucked up and I have to work _really_ hard not to grimace or gag.  He asks me how old I am and I give my standard answer, which is, ‘I am anything you want me to be.’  Sick.  So today I’m Penelope, his fourteen year old daughter, and I have to call him daddy and suck him off and beg for more.  He leaves after an hour and a half and I am literally retching for the rest of the morning.  He tipped me, though.  Ten dollars.  He’s the first that’s ever done that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Nothing really, just kind of angsty.

** Chapter 2 **

****

By the time Ivan lets me go home at four thirty, I can barely keep my eyes open.  I know Elsa will be gone by the time I get home.  Ivan tells me that it’s only a week more until he’ll pay me for my first month.  God, I hope it’s a big, fat check.  I slip my hand in my pocket and feel the ten dollar bill that is my tip.  Smiling, I know I can buy some food for Elsa and me.  Maybe even chocolate.  We love chocolate but haven’t had any in weeks.  I know Elsa will be excited.

I stop by the store on my way home.  I can buy a bunch of stuff for ten dollars, although I wish it were more.  It sucks that fruit is so expensive.  I’d give _anything_ for a pineapple.  They’re my favorite!  Too expensive.  I do buy Elsa two kiwis, though.  I doubt they’re in season, but they’re her favorite.  Besides, it was two for a dollar.  

She’s not home when I get there, just like I thought.  I know if I only take a five minute shower that there’ll be enough hot water left over for her.  Our tank is shitty and broken but it does the job, at least for a while.  Elsa’s hair is thicker than mine so it takes her longer to rinse it.  God, she has the best hair!  I always play with it when we’re waking up.  It’s like my security blanket.  Anyway, I can do everything I need in the shower in five minutes, as long as the water is hot enough to wash the day away.

After I’ve scrubbed the top layer of my skin off, I light a fire in our fireplace and lay down in front of it.  The floor is hard out here in the living room but the fire is so nice I don’t care.  I’ve put Elsa’s kiwis on the kitchen table, and I can’t wait to see her face when she sees them.  I don’t mean to fall asleep waiting for her, but the darkness that creeps to the edges of my vision is just so _inviting._   Besides, I know that it’ll be her face I see when I wake up.  

* * *

 

The room is dark and the fire down to embers when I feel someone shaking my shoulder.  This voice creeps into my dreaming brain, saying my name.  ‘Anna, Anna,’ it goes.  ‘Wake up, Anna.’  I don’t want to wake up, though, because I’m just so _comfortable_ right here.  But that voice won’t leave me alone so finally I open my eyes and I’m pretty glad I did because Elsa’s standing there and she’s actually _smiling._   She says she can’t believe I bought her kiwis and ‘where did you find the money for the groceries?’  I obviously can’t tell her the truth so I just tell her that some nice guy on a street in downtown took pity on me and gave me some money.  Just to make it believable, I tell her that he said I reminded him of his daughter.  My stomach is flipping around just thinking about that, but she seems to believe me.

Elsa got this microwave off a friend of hers half a year ago.  It’s older than Methuselah but it works fine.  The numbers and stuff on the keypad have all worn off so you kind of have to guess and just jab at buttons and pull the door open to stop it if it’s going too long.  But that’s fine because, as I mentioned, it works.  And it was free, which is always a plus!  I love when it finishes and goes _ding!_   Such a cheerful sound.  

We use the microwave to boil water to make boxed pasta.  Our stove is really finicky and might explode any second, so we don’t even dare to turn it on.  I tried to use it to make rice once and nearly burned the whole building to the ground, so now we just stick to the microwave.  We do have a toaster oven though.  

We eat our food at the table, because that’s what we always did when Mom and Dad were around.  Mom was a stickler for that kind of thing.  Family bonding and all that.  Elsa asks me how my day was.  I lie and tell her it was fine.  I’m not sure she believes me but she doesn’t ask anything else.  She offers me a kiwi but I turn it down.  I’m not a fan of kiwi.  They’re too sour.

Elsa takes a shower after dinner.  I’m already in bed by the time she comes in.  She’s wearing her sweats.  I know what that means.  She climbs into bed with me and turns on her side, facing me, her front to my side.  I’m a back sleeper, even though Elsa complains that I snore.  She lays her arm over my lower ribcage, her fingertips brushing my arm.  Her face fits in the space between my shoulder and my ear.  She’s my sister but we’ve always cuddled like this.  Elsa’s ex-boyfriend used to say it was weird, but we’re just close.  

She’s humming to me, just like she always does.  Like she used to when we were little girls and I’d be scared of the dark and go running into Elsa’s bed in the middle of the night.  Mom and Dad didn’t like when I’d wake them up, so I’d go to Elsa instead.  For some reason, hearing her hum makes me want to cry.  I turn my back to her, pulling her arm along with me so we’re laying like spoons.  Her arm tightens around me and I cry into my pillow, just like she does.  I try to keep from shaking but I think she’s on to me.  I fall asleep eventually, with her face pressed into my hair, the gentle weight of her arm over me keeping me from floating away and never coming back.

* * *

 

It’s finally Halloween.  I remember being so excited for Halloween as a kid because I’ve always had a major sweet tooth.  The year I was seven I dressed as Raggedy Ann.  Elsa was a Snow Angel and Mom made her costume.  She had this headband with a halo of silver snowflakes, and this long white robe that Mom sewed glittery lace onto the edges of.  She also had these massive white wings.  With her hair curled and down and her big blue eyes, Dad said she was the most beautiful angel he’d ever seen.  She really was, though.

Elsa and I were always good at eating Halloween candy together.  We both liked chocolate, and still do, but Elsa hates nuts and I hate caramel.  So the only candy bar we can agree that we _both_ hate is Snickers.  But she could eat all the Milky Way bars she wanted from my pile, and she always gave me her Three Musketeers in return.

It’s the end of my first month at Ivan’s, which means that it’s finally pay day.  I have to suffer through three different clients, all in the Blue Room, before I can get my money and escape.  It’s a check.  

I’m walking home, trying to figure out what to do with this check, when I hear someone yelling for me.  Hans, my buddy, comes running up to me.  _Aha!_ I think.  Hans has a bank account!  I write Pay To The Order Of Hans Westergard on the back and before I know it I’ve got fifteen crisp, glorious twenty dollar bills in my hand.  Hans is looking at me and his face is a crazy mix of wanting to ask me where I got this money and wanting to stay far, far away from any knowledge of where I might have gotten this money.  I’m relieved when he picks the latter.

I want to run home to Elsa.  I want to shove the money into her hands and tell her ‘ _look_ Elsa, _look_ what I got for us!  Now we can eat whenever we want and we can turn the heat on and maybe even go to a movie like normal sisters do on their day off and _oh_ _Elsa_ won’t it be so much _better_ now?’  But I can’t say any of that because then she’d ask where I got the money and if I told her, she’d forbid me to go.  She’d say it’s killing her, knowing that I was doing this.  

I have to keep it a secret.  I can’t tell her.  In order to provide more money for her, I have to keep this from her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: Again, nothing really, just more angst and love love love!

** Chapter 3 **

****

Elsa is home when I get there.  This is a surprise because usually she’s out, but today she’s home.  And she’s got a surprise for me.  On the table in the kitchen sits a huge pumpkin and a pumpkin carving kit.  Also on the table are four bags.  I peek into them and want to run and hug her because she’s gone to the grocery store too.  I have to act surprised and ask her where on earth she got the money for all this, because she doesn’t know that I know where she goes every night.

She dodges my question skillfully, as she often does, and I let it drop because I don’t want her to know that I know.  I’m working so hard to try and keep her from having to do that anymore.  She doesn’t need to know that I’m doing basically the same thing, although I’m willing to bet my gig is better paying than hers.  It makes my throat burn to think of someone touching my beautiful sister like that, hurting her, but I have to tell myself that she won’t do it much longer.  Not if I can help it.

We carve the huge pumpkin, throwing pumpkin guts at each other like we did as kids.  Elsa has pumpkin seeds in her hair and so do I but it’s just so funny that we don’t even care.  We carve the most ridiculous looking face into the pumpkin and we both fall down laughing because Elsa says it looked like our downstairs neighbor when he gets mad at the garbage truck for running over his potted plants.

I keep thinking about the twenty dollar bills I have hidden in my purse in the closet.  I can’t make it obvious I have that much money; Elsa would be _hella_ suspicious.  I’m going to just use it, bit by bit, to take care of stuff and then it’ll appear like I’m just getting little amounts of money at a time.  Now I just have to come up with a lie about where I’m getting _that_ money.  Lying is so exhausting.  I hate it.

I make grilled cheese sandwiches in our toaster oven and heat up soup in the microwave.  The sandwiches smell good but I’m having trouble eating.  Elsa asks me if I’m feeling okay and I lie (again) and tell her I’m fine, that I’m just probably coming down with a cold or something because I’m not that hungry.  Elsa tells me I should eat because ‘ _you’re looking thin, Anna’_ , and I almost laugh because has she looked in the mirror lately?  I beg off and run to the shower.

When I’m done, it’s Elsa’s turn.  I go back out to clean up the pumpkin mess before we go to sleep.  When I get to the kitchen, I see the remnants of dinner on the countertop, and Elsa’s sandwich is barely touched either.

* * *

 

By mid-November, I’ve come up with something to tell Elsa about where I’m getting money.  I had to because when I got the heat turned back on she demanded answers.  I finally admitted I’d gotten a job.  But that was the extent of my truthfulness.  I told her I was working for Hans’ dad in his factory way out in North Plains, and that was why I had to leave so early.  The bus schedules are a bitch to get out there.

Elsa smiles and hugs me, tells me she’s happy for me, but I see a glimmer of pain in her blue eyes.  She’s wishing she had a factory job instead of working the streets like she does.  I have to turn away because I’m afraid she’ll see the lie written all over my face.

* * *

 

For Thanksgiving, we make our own feast.  Neither of us are fans of turkey, so we go for chicken instead.  Elsa cooks the chicken breast in the toaster oven, which makes me crack up laughing.  I tell her I’m pretty positive that’s not what it was intended for but she just shrugs and tells me that drastic times call for drastic measures.  Between the microwave and the toaster oven, we manage to make everything except pie.  That actually works out well because that is one thing we _cannot_ agree on.  I like pumpkin pie but Elsa only likes apple pie.  We decide to just forget the whole pie thing and go for chocolate chip cookies instead.  Elsa got the refrigerated dough and we planned to bake them in the toaster oven but we got lazy and now we’re just eating the dough right out of the tube.

We sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, pelting each other with marshmallows that we didn’t use on sweet potatoes.  Elsa is cracking up and it’s great but my heart aches because I miss when she used to laugh like this all the time.  Her laugh is infectious and I really miss it.  She doesn’t laugh much anymore.

I’m having a hard time keeping my mouth shut.  It’s not that I want to tell Elsa what I really do for work.  No way.  It’s that I want to tell her to _stop_ doing what she’s doing for work.  I want to tell her that I can handle it.  I can be our breadwinner.  I can provide for us while she goes and looks for a real job.  Hell, I’m going to make so much money she could even go back to school if she wants, as long as she does it one term at a time so that I can work extra to make enough for tuition and books.  But I can’t say that because I don’t want her to know that I know.  It would wreck her pride if she knew that I’ve known all along.  My sister is very proud and her ego is fragile.  I can’t say that to her just outright like that.  I have to come up with something.

* * *

 

By Christmas, not only is our heat back on but I’ve gotten our hot water tank fixed and the stove, too.  We can now boil water properly and it’s fantastic.  Elsa hasn’t asked much about that, I think she’s content with the idea that I’m working for Hans’ dad in the factory.  I certainly come home tired enough.  She’s sometimes home when I get here and I quickly drag to the shower, telling her I’m covered in grime from the machines which thankfully she doesn’t question.  

She’s still sneaking out at night but not every night.  The mornings after she stays in, she wakes up before I do.  Her eyes have this peace in them that I haven’t seen in a long time.  She doesn’t know what I do for work, but she is feeling some relief.  

Sometimes I think I should be jealous of her.  She’s pulling away from that kind of life, that kind of work, whereas I’m throwing myself even further _into_ it but I just can’t conjure up the jealousy.  Actually, I’m the opposite — I’m _relieved._   She’s always been so quick to fall in on herself.  So quick to criticize herself.  She doesn’t stand up for herself, she never has.  When we were little and Mom or Dad would be upset at her for something, I’d purposefully get myself in between her and them, buffering the fight, taking it myself instead of letting it get to Elsa.  My personality has always been louder, bigger, stronger.  I’m a big girl.  I can handle it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: discussion of prostitution (nothing too graphic), angst as always, grief, and some adorably awkward flirting. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome KRISTOFF! Enjoy :)

** Chapter 4 **

****

When I come home from Ivan’s on Christmas Eve, I almost drop to the floor.  I’m so tired I can’t even see straight.  But as soon as I open the door, Elsa tackles me.  She’s grinning and saying, ‘merry Christmas, baby sister’, right in my ear.  Over her shoulder I see the most beautiful Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.  It’s not huge, but it’s perfectly shaped with lights, candy canes and tinsel all over it.  There’s even a star on top.

I want to ask Elsa how she did this, where she got it, how she got it up here but I’m just so shocked I can’t speak.  Eventually I find my voice and I tell her that I love it, that it’s beautiful and that I’m so excited.  In reality I just want to go to sleep.  I beg her to let me go shower before we finish decorating it together.  Her eyes narrow at me and her eyebrows knit together but she lets me go.

After I take a shower, Elsa and I make Christmas cookies in the toaster oven.  We don’t have any cookie cutters but we use knives to carve the dough into the shapes we want.  She makes a Christmas tree, a snowman and a heart.  I make two stars and a gingerbread man.  We both realize we have no frosting, so we just eat them the way they are.  

Like every night, we’re sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, leaning back against the couch.  Even though our heat is on, we still enjoy the fire time.  Elsa asks me if I remember much about Christmases from before Mom and Dad died.  I have to think about it, because that’s not a place I let my brain go all that often.  It just makes me too sad.  Mom and Dad were so great to us.  We didn’t have loads of money, but they always did their best.  Just like we do now.  It was so hard for us when they died.  We only had each other, but we both grieved in such different ways.  Elsa pulled in, like she always does, and hardly spoke for weeks.  I went around glaring at everyone, punching walls and hurting my hand, pushing everyone away, including my best friend Hans.  I have to shake my head hard to clear that train of thought.

I remember Mom and Dad got me this toy pegasus when I was little - maybe eight or nine.  It had a rainbow mane and tail and glittery silver wings, like Elsa’s snow angel costume from Halloween.  I named it Fancy Dancer and carried it everywhere with me.  It got filthy and eventually lost most of the hair from it’s mane and tail, but I loved it anyway.  I have it still.

Elsa tells me she remembers her favorite gift from a Christmas past: an art set that had every single color of pencil, pen and oil pastel you could dream of.  It had graphite pencils in various sizes, gum erasers and a pencil sharpener.  It had a set of water colors and a brush with a wooden handle.  It came in a giant box with a spot in the middle for a sketchbook or paint pad.  I can kind of remember that, actually, and the memories sharpen as Elsa talks about how Mom and Dad always hung her creations on the refrigerator or on the wall in their bedroom.  Elsa was really talented, even as a child, and I’m willing to bet she still is.  

* * *

 

My November and December checks from Ivan’s place are even bigger than October’s.  The guy who has a thing for his fourteen-year-old has become a regular of mine, and he _does_ pay nicely, just like Ivan said.  Aside from him, I’ve gotten a few other regular clients.  There’s the big, reddish-haired guy with a funky accent who is nice enough but nearly rips me in half all the time from his sheer size.  He says he runs a sauna for a living and I have no idea what that means, but he tells me I should come check it out sometime, free of charge.  I always just nod and smile and he usually changes the subject pretty quick.

Then there’s the older lady who is all angles and sneers, with black and white hair and gaudy red lipstick.  She’s French, I believe, and she likes to make me dress up in weird clothes and touch myself in front of her.  She never lays a hand on me, just sits there across the room, her eyes glittering in the fucking creepiest manner, a lit cigarette on the end of one of those extended stick thingies smoldering in her hand.  She stays half an hour, I fake three orgasms and she’s out the door.  Ivan says she used to run a similar kind of place to his, and this is reliving her glory days.  _Cha-ching._

Then there’s this couple who are so dysfunctional it’s almost laughable.  They call themselves ‘The King and Queen’ and refer to each other as ‘Your Majesty’, but they literally cannot agree on anything.  There’s usually a good twenty minutes of arguing as they try to figure it out.  The King typically gets his way and I’m usually flat on my back for a good fifteen minutes after that while the Queen struts around barking orders.  Sometimes they switch places, and sometimes _I’m_ the one who has to walk around and tell them what to do.  I never know what the hell I’m doing so I just say whatever comes to mind, which usually works out fine for everyone.

This one day, in late January, I’m sitting in an arm chair in the lounge at Ivan’s place, my legs over one of the arms and my head resting on the other, when Ivan’s secretary, Ariel, comes in.  She barks my name from across the room and in an instant I’m on my feet.  She says there’s a client for me.  A _new_ client.  My stomach drops and I have to clench my fists to keep from sighing.  The last time there was a newbie, it was Mr. Daddy and that’s still one of the grossest things I’ve ever come across in my life.  This one can’t be worse than that, right?

As if to add insult to injury, Ariel’s booked me into the Blue Room.  Again.  I swear this never gets any easier.  I go into the room, trying to block everything from my mind.  I don’t want to think about _anything._   It’s better if I’m just a clean slate when a client comes in, because I essentially have to shape shift into whatever they want.  That’s easier to do if I’m not thinking hard - or at all.

The door swings open and I’m expecting some really weird person or maybe a young guy who just wants to dominate someone without the fear of it coming back to bite him in the ass, but the person who walks in looks extremely timid and almost embarrassed to be here.  

I look carefully at the newbie.  He’s tall, broad and handsome in a kind of soft, clueless way.  He has shaggy blonde hair and soft brown eyes.  His hands are wringing together in front of him and his eyes are staring intently at the floor.  This guy, I decide, is adorable.

Demurely, I walk up to him, making sure to keep my eyes downcast until I get a better read on this dude.  He’s either biding his time before he breaks his shy demeanor and goes ape shit, or he really is nervous.  I approach him and stop within reach of him, but he doesn’t move.  I know Ivan’s vetted this guy, they vet everyone before sending them back, but I still don’t know what to expect.  

I start by asking him what his name is, and he stutters an answer.  ‘Kristoff.’  His name is Kristoff.  I invite him in, invite him to take off his coat and sit on the bed.  He removes his coat but stays away from the bed, sitting instead on a chair in the corner - the one that Madame Whatever usually sits in to stare at me.  Kristoff is a lot less creepy looking sitting there.  He tells me he’s not really sure what he’s doing here and that he’s sorry if this is awkward.  ‘Hello,’ I want to say, ‘you’re paying for _sex_ , it’d be less awkward if you ripped our clothes off and had your way with me instead of sitting there acting almost apologetic for showing up at my place of work.’  But obviously I don’t say any of that.

Well, he must be here for a reason, and I say that to him as I approach him slowly, fluidly, pulling down the straps of my tight, dark green dress as I go.  His eyes flick up to look at me and then drop immediately back to the ground.  I’m naked from the waist up by the time I reach him and he’s not reacting at all.  Now _this_ is weird.  Does he not find me attractive?  That’s not really an issue I’ve had before so I’m not sure how to proceed from here.  If he doesn’t want me to strip, then what _does_ he want from me?  He’s only here for an hour appointment.  Some people will book me for an entire morning (like Sicko Dad Guy).

Kristoff’s mahogany eyes lift from the ground and slowly make their way up until we’re looking right at each other.  He tells me again that he’s sorry, that he doesn’t know what he’s here for.  I’m so confused by this guy that I just don’t say anything.  He admits, almost sheepishly, that he’s lonely and would I _please_ just pull my dress back up.  He says he’ll still pay for my time, which is really all I care about anyway.

We pass the hour, me sitting on the bed, him on the chair, just talking.  He tells me about his life.  His ex-wife left him two years ago, they’d been married just a year.  He’s barely older than Elsa - only twenty three - and hasn’t been able to bring himself to date anyone else quite yet.  He lives alone with his dog, a Boxer named Sven, and works as the owner of a commercial refrigeration company.  He asks me about myself but I dodge his questions in a manner so skillful that even my sister, question dodger extraordinaire, would be impressed.

The hour passes.  Kristoff stands, picks up his jacket and presses a one-hundred dollar bill into my hand.  I know he’s paid Ivan up front so I try to protest but he doesn’t respond, just looks at me with his big, sad brown eyes and turns and leaves.  I sit on the bed after he’s gone and wonder what the hell that was all about.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter. :)

** Chapter 5 **

****

Hans has had enough of letting me cash my checks through him.  By February, I know I’ve got to get my own account somewhere.  I’ve always shied away from doing this because I never had enough money to feel it was necessary to have an account, but now I do.  Besides, it’s not safe to stash a few thousand dollars at home (not to mention the fact that Elsa might find it) and I’m _certainly_ not about to carry it with me!  

I push open the door to the bank.  It smells like money and it’s hushed and quiet, like when there’s a new snowfall.  I’m clutching a dog-eared enveloped that has all my information in it - birth certificate, state-issued ID and everything.  I’m eighteen years old.  Plenty old enough to open my own account.  I keep expecting someone to tell me I can’t, that I’m not allowed, not _worthy_ of a bank account.  I keep expecting someone to ask me where an eighteen-year-old like me got this kind of money, but no one does.  

Even Hans, who is with me, doesn’t ask.  After all these months he’s come to know better.  He’s pried a few times but I shut that shit right down because I don’t want to go there with anyone, especially not him!  He’s got money, a family, a house.  He still lives with his parents, for God’s sake!  He doesn’t have a care in the world!  He’s never once been to my house in all the seven years I’ve known him.  He’s met Elsa, but only a few times and hasn’t seen her in years.

Forty minutes later I walk out with an account number and a heavy heart.  I’m happy to know that my money is safe.  I just wish the checks came from a different employer.

* * *

 

February eleventh, Kristoff comes back.  Ariel told me I had a repeat client coming, and I immediately headed for the Blue Room.  It’s like I’m always in that room now.  It doesn’t bother me anymore - to be honest, I’ve kind of become numb to it.  I’ve become numb to a lot of things, I think.  

I sit on the bed and wait.  No one ever tells me who is coming.  I have to be a clean slate, ready for anything, to be marked however the client desires.  I have to be a shapeshifter, a chameleon.  I’m braced for the worst when the door opens and I see familiar brown eyes staring at me.  He greets me softly and cautiously enters the room.  He makes a beeline for the chair in the corner, same as last time.  He takes off his snow hat, gloves and jacket and lays them beside the chair.  

Not moving from my perch on the bed, I ask him if he’s just here to talk again or if he actually wants something else.  He crosses one ankle over the other knee and leans back.  He says he enjoyed my company last time, and that he’s fine just talking to me again.  I point out that he could probably find someone else to talk to that doesn’t charge as much as I do but he says money isn’t an issue.  He wants to know me.

Well, I don’t know what to say to that.  No one has ever really wanted to _know_ me, except Elsa but she doesn't really have a choice.  We’re sisters.  She’s kind of stuck with me.  I pick at the edge of the blanket and ask him what he wants to know.  He asks me my name, how old I am, if I’m from around here, if I’m close with my family and if I have any pets.  I tell him Anna, eighteen, yes, sort of and no, although I used to have a gerbil when I was little.  I ask him about his dog, Sven.  He tells me he’s the biggest dork that ever lived and that he will be lost without him someday.  That makes me smile.  I think I’d like a to have a dog like that one day.

He’s easy to talk to and I find myself telling him the story of when Elsa and I were little and our neighbor, whom we called Uncle Jim although he wasn’t really our uncle, had a Great Dane named Buster and we used to take turns riding him like a horse.  Elsa fell off and hit her head on the coffee table and needed nine stitches just above her right ear.  She has a scar there to this day.  

Kristoff asks me about Elsa.  My mind screams _danger!_ and I look away, avoiding the topic.  He speculates that Elsa and I must be very close based on the look on my face when I talk about her.  I smile.  We are close.  She’s my best friend, my confidant, the moon to my stars and the peanut butter to my jelly.  I’ve always looked up to her.  She’s beautiful and smart and selfless and kind.  My eyes burn and I want to tell him that I’m here, working, to keep her from having to do the same thing.  She’s been sneaking out less and less at night, and finally has a day job as a waitress, although I know she dreams of being an architect or an interior designer.  She always used to draw buildings and map out blueprints of houses.  But of course I don’t say any of that to Kristoff.

However, I’m getting really curious as to why he’s here if not for sex, so I ask him.  He says he originally came here thinking he’d want a physical release, but couldn’t follow through.  He confides in me that he’s lonely and just wanted some companionship.  I ask him why he doesn’t just go out with his friends and his response is that he doesn’t have any.  I find that hard to believe and I must have a skeptical look on my face because he explains that he’s an introvert, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be solitary all the time.  He has a mountain cabin for when he wants solitude.

It’s funny because I can’t deny that this guy is one of the most handsome clients I’ve got.  He’s tall and broad with classic good looks and nice taste in clothes.  I can see the outline of his muscular shoulders under his button up shirt and his hands are solid, and I’m shocked to find myself wishing he’d hold me with those hands, protect me from things that go bump in the night.  

The hour is up and Kristoff rises from his chair.  He slips me another one hundred dollar bill, just like last time and, just like last time, I try futilely to refuse it.  His hand lingers on mine momentarily as he passes the money over.  One corner of his lips pull up into a small smile and his honey brown eyes light on mine for just a moment longer and then he’s gone.

* * *

 

Elsa is worried about me.  When Valentine’s Day passed and I didn’t get excited enough about the chocolate (at least according to her), Elsa started worrying.  She’s good at that and always has been.  She’s the older sister by two-and-a-half years and has always tried to fuss over me.  It’s funny because when push comes to shove, I’m the one who stands up for _her._   That’s just my personality.  Dad used to say I was a spitfire and Mom used to call me Firecracker.  I have red hair, so fire is a natural choice of word for me.  

Elsa, on the other hand, has always been more quiet and reserved.  She’s funny as hell when you get her in the right mood, though.  She has this classic deadpan sense of humor and delivers quips and jabs in true Elsa fashion - quick and ruthless.  But she also has this deep, soft side to her.  Sometimes, when she’s thinking about something profound, she’ll turn to look at me and I have to steady myself because her eyes are just so _big_ in her face and I swear I can see the questions of the universe in them.

She begs me to talk to her, please, to tell her what is bothering me.  She reminds me that she’s my sister and that she loves me more than anything and that she’s always _right here_ when I want to talk, okay?  ‘Okay, Anna?’  And I want nothing more than to run right into her arms and bury my face in that spectacular hair of hers and tell her _everything._   About Ivan and the Blue Room.  About the Sicko Dad Guy and Madame Whatever-the-fuck and even Kristoff with his dorky Boxer, Sven.  But I can’t.  So instead I wrap my arms around myself and smile at Elsa and tell her, ‘okay, Els, I’ll remember that.’

I don’t even make it all the way to the bathroom before my stomach is heaving and trying to expel everything.  I hate lying to her.  I hate hiding things from her.  But it would be so, so much worse for both of us if she knew.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: a bit of grief and nostalgia, and a SUPER cute Boxer dog! ( I mean, seriously. Beware of the cuteness of Boxer dogs. I have a Boxer and his cuteness is lethal at times. No, his name isn't Sven, though. It's Frank.)

** Chapter 6 **

****

In March, I take my sister out to the movies and to the nicest restaurant I can find.  Neither of us have ever been on a date proper, so we decide to go on a sister-date.  It’s a thing, we’ve declared.  We both wear black on black, because black fits in _anywhere_ and it’s definitely the most fun we’ve had in ages.  The movie is a comedy and Elsa is cracking up so much I’m thinking she’s going to spill her popcorn, but she doesn’t.  By the time the credits roll, our stomachs are aching from laughing so much.  

When we get to the restaurant, we’re both like _oh my god,_ because the entire menu is literally in Italian and we have no idea what anything is.  I close my eyes and jab my finger onto the menu, blindly choosing something and leaving it up to chance, and Elsa does the same.   She ends up with some funky kind of pasta with capers in it and I have the fanciest macaroni and cheese I’ve ever seen in my life.  It even has bread crumbs on top of it and it’s clearly baked, not microwaved, and some spots are crispy and some are gooey and it’s so hot I burn my tongue but I don’t care.

After dinner, we walk to back to our building, arm in arm, singing songs from Mamma Mia, Elsa’s favorite musical.  People are staring at us but it doesn’t matter.  For one night we are just Elsa and Anna.  A pair of sisters who love each other endlessly, through thick and thin, no matter what.  Anyone looking at us doesn’t know what we’ve done for a living (or still do, in my case) or what we’ve been through in our lives.  They don’t know where we live, how much money we have or what our past holds.  They just see two girls having fun.  Together.  As we should be.

* * *

 

Kristoff starts coming to see me every other week.  Dude must be loaded, the amount of money he spends just to talk to me for an hour.  I feel like a therapist, charging him up the butt just to talk to me, but he says he enjoys it and keeps coming back so who am I to complain?  Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starting to look forward to his visits.

One day, in early April, he brings Sven with him.  I’m shocked that Ivan allowed him to bring a dog in, but then I figure that hey, Kristoff’s paying Ivan nicely so Ivan will probably let him do whatever he wants.  The door to the Blue Room swings open and a brownish-greyish blur zooms into the room.  Before I can even register what’s happening, I’m flat on my back on the bed and there’s a lithe, wriggling dog on top of me, peering at me with dark brown eyes and an adorable head tilt.

I squeal and immediately flop Sven’s ears all around.  He’s so ridiculously cute!  Kristoff comes charging in and yells at Sven to get down, but I don’t mind.  Sven tries to step backwards off of me but misses his footing on the bed and falls into a heap on the floor.  I start laughing; Kristoff was so right about Sven being a total dork.  Sven clambers to his feet and shakes, his jowls flapping this way and that.  I can’t get over his cuteness and grab at his floppy chops, making him playfully nip at my hand.  Kristoff is sitting in his usual chair, grinning as he watches me play with his dog.

Eventually, Sven calms down a little bit and flops onto the floor in front of Kristoff’s feet.  I take up my usual position on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, my ankles casually crossed.  I’m getting used to Kristoff and find myself feeling pretty damn relaxed in his company.  He’s never once tried to lay a hand on me, although of course I would let him since he’s paying for my time.  I’m wearing jeans today, and a black baggy t-shirt.  Kristoff compliments me on my look.

I laugh and ask him what on earth he’s talking about.  I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt for crying out loud.  Kristoff smiles gently at me and tells me that I look beautiful no matter what I’m wearing.  My face feels flushed and I have to look down.  

‘You should see my sister,’ I tell him.  ‘Now _she’s_ beautiful!’  I tell him about her blonde hair that’s so pale it’s almost silver and her big blue eyes.  I tell him how she gets that faraway look sometimes and her whole body stills and she looks like a statue or a painting or something.  It’s so unfair that she got all the best genetics.  Kristoff’s head is shaking back and forth and a bemused smile is playing across his face.  He clucks his tongue and tells me I obviously need glasses.

Speaking of genetics, he asks about my parents.  He asks if Elsa looks like one parent and I look like the other, or if we’re both a blend or what.  I think for a minute.  Elsa looks like Mom except blonde.  Mom had brown hair.  I don’t really look like either of them except my hair is red like Dad’s.  His was a little more blonde though.  Elsa and I look a little bit alike but her features are finer than mine, and she’s slightly taller.  Her eyes are blue where as mine are greenish-blue.  We do wear the same size shoe, though, and can share most of our clothes even though I’m shorter.

I’m amazed that I’m offering up this amount of information to Kristoff who is still practically a stranger.  He’s just so easy to talk to.  He doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives and I find that reassuring.  I’m starting to believe that he actually does just like my company.  I feel bad that he has to pay so much, though.  However, I know that’s his choice and he could stop anytime he wants.  But he just keeps coming back, and I, for one, am really glad he does.

* * *

 

It’s the middle of May and Elsa and I have been pooling our money.  She says she’s ready to try and move out of this place and I am too.  I’m _so_ ready.  It’s bittersweet because this is where we lived with Mom and Dad for so many years, and then with each other for years after.  This is where we learned to survive on our own.  Where we grew up far too fast, Elsa especially.  These walls hold a lot of memories and experiences, but we are ready for a new start.

Elsa has found an apartment that we could afford.  Of course, we could easily afford it but she doesn’t know that, as I’m still depositing all my money into my account and only allowing her to know about a fraction of it.  If she knew I was making well over a thousand dollars per month, she’d flip her shit and demand to know where it was coming from because there is no way she’s dumb enough to believe I’m making that much from a factory job.  I can’t snow Elsa.  I would know, I know her better than anyone.

The downside is that it’s a one-bedroom apartment.  She says she’s sorry and that she’s sure we’d rather have separate rooms but there aren’t any two-bedrooms available currently.  The thought of being on my own at night for the first time in years makes my heart race.  She’s my security blanket.  I can’t be without her.  Especially now that she’s not sneaking out in the night anymore.  Her waitressing job is making enough money for her liking, I guess, and she hasn’t work the streets in over two months.

I quickly tell her that it’s fine.  We’ve been sharing a room, hell, a _bed_ for this long and there’s no reason to worry about changing that just yet.  It’s not like either of us have marriage on the horizon.  She laughs and tells me I have a point.  Besides, she says, she’s used to using me as her teddy bear at night.  I’m so relieved she said that because I felt like a weirdo.

We turn in the application and pay first and last month’s rent on the spot.  It takes us two weeks to clean our apartment and pack everything, what with our respective work schedules, but we eventually get it done.  Hans comes over in his dad’s pickup truck to help us move the stuff.  He wanted to come inside to help us carry things out but we refused and had everything waiting on the sidewalk by the time he came.  No need for him to see where we’d been living.  It would have raised some eyebrows for sure!

The new apartment is sparkling clean and white _everywhere._   White walls, white carpet, white molding around the doors and windows.  Even the toilets are pristine and white.  I almost don’t want to step inside, for fear I’ll dirty it just by being there.  Despite the fact that I know Elsa has done the same things I have for money, I still view her as pure, or at least more pure than I am.  I feel filthy more often than not.  No amount of scrubbing in the shower can get me clean again.

Elsa is happier than I’ve seen her in a long time.  She keeps saying things like, ‘it’s so _warm_ in here, Anna’, and mentioning how glad she is that we made the decision to move here.  She also points out that it has a fireplace, like our old apartment, and she’s glad for that because she’s kind of attached to our nightly sit-in-front-of-the-fire ritual, even though it’s almost summer now and the nights aren’t so cold.  I’m glad too.  I feel like if too many things change all at once I’ll lose my grip on reality.

Hans helps us drag all of our stuff upstairs.  He keeps asking if we’re sure this is all we have.  Elsa and I don’t have a lot of stuff.  Just the basics: furniture, clothes, kitchenwares (we brought our trusty toaster oven) and a few keepsakes, mainly things that belonged to Mom and Dad.  After Hans leaves, Elsa and I make mini pizzas in our toaster oven, even though we have a real working oven and stove now, and sit down at the table.  Elsa brings out the big photo album.  Even though the cover is hanging on by a thread and the outsides of the pages are yellowed with age, the pictures inside are still in perfect condition.

We giggle over the pictures of baby Elsa.  She was always so _blonde_.  Baby Elsa in her high chair with baby food all over her face, her blue eyes wide as if to say _what the heck is THIS, Mom?!_   Baby Elsa in the bathtub, Baby Elsa learning to walk, Baby Elsa in her stroller at the park.  Then we get to Toddler Elsa and Baby Anna pictures.  Elsa laughs when she sees the first picture of the two of us together.  Mom is laying in the hospital bed, her hair a mess and dark circles under her eyes, holding a teeny bundle of baby Anna.  Elsa, just barely two years old, is sitting on the side of the bed looking at baby me with wide, blue eyes, her mouth forming a perfect little circle.  It’s a look of awe.  Mom always said Elsa was fascinated with me as a baby.  

We keep going through the album, pointing to each picture and exclaiming over them as if we’ve never seen them before.  At ages four and six, riding scooters around the neighborhood.  Ages five and seven with “Uncle” Jim’s dog, Buster.  Elsa’s first day of second grade.  My first day of kindergarten.  Elsa’s fifth grade graduation, first middle school dance and a photo of her holding her seventh grade honor roll certificate.  My fifth grade graduation, first middle school dance, and first Karate class that Mom and Dad scraped together pennies for.  A picture of Elsa with her award-winning portrait in eighth grade.  A picture of me with Elsa and two of our neighbor friends on my twelfth birthday, just a few weeks before the accident.  

And there the pictures abruptly stop.  If anyone were to find this photo album out of context, it would appear as though Elsa and I were frozen in time as fourteen- and twelve-year-old girls, smart, well-liked, fun-loving and happy.  It’s such a stark contrast to where we are now at eighteen and almost twenty-one.  Oh Elsa’s still smart as can be, and I’m probably not any dumber than I was (although I guess that’s up for debate, given my profession), and we do enjoy having fun.  But so much has happened since then.  I can hardly say we are the same girls as the ones in these pictures.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: mention of prostitution and sex (not terribly graphic), some sweet lovin’ and a kiss. Some self-image problems and PTSD of a low-grade.

** Chapter 7 **

****

Elsa’s birthday is on June twenty-first.  Dad always used to joke and call Elsa their little Winter Baby because of how fair her skin and hair are, and how ice-blue her eyes are.  He thought it was hilarious that their Winter Baby was born on the summer solstice.  When Elsa was a moody preteen, Mom and Dad jokingly called her the Ice Queen.  She did have a pretty gnarly eye-roll and she could raise one eyebrow in such a way that resting-bitch-face would’ve been considered the understatement of the year.  I occasionally still see that icy eyebrow, although thankfully not often directed towards me.

For Elsa’s birthday, I buy her a necklace.  It cost me almost a month’s pay, but I don’t bat an eye.  It’s a white gold snowflake pendant with diamonds set into it, one on each of the six points.  On the back is engraved a cursive E for Elsa.  In a few months, when I’ve made enough money to cover rent for a while, I’ll get one for myself that is the match to hers.  Mine will be a sun shaped pendant with an A engraved on the back.  Ice and fire.  Elsa and me.

Her eyes widen when she sees the necklace.  She’s speechless, which isn’t something that happens often to my sister.  Wordlessly, she throws her arms around me, crushing me against her body.  I’m so relieved to notice, when I put my arms around her too, that her backbone doesn’t protrude as much and her ribs don’t jab into me like they used to.  She’s better.  She’s healthier.  She’s happier.  That’s all I want, all I need.  I can finally take care of her the way I’ve always wanted to.  She’s done so much for me, always been there for me, and now I can return the favor.  My heart swells up a little bit, knowing that I’d do absolutely anything to keep her safe, even if it means selling my body for the rest of my life.  That’s a price I’m willing to pay to protect my sister, who means more to me than anyone else on this Earth.

I know she would do the same for me.  In fact, she has.

* * *

 

In July, Kristoff kisses me for the first time.  He’s so nervous he’s literally shaking and his nose is freezing when it brushes against mine, but his lips are soft and warm and he doesn’t hesitate.  When he pulls away, he’s looking at me so intently that I almost burst out laughing.  The fact that we are sitting in my place of employment where I literally have sex with strangers for money and he’s nervous about _kissing_ me is so funny I can hardly contain myself.  He’s a twenty-three year old man, for crying out loud!  I’m just an almost-nineteen-year-old nobody from a broken home who makes other peoples’ fantasies become realities while simultaneously crushing my own spirit.  So romantic.

What the hell is he doing here?  He could have anyone he wants.  There’s not even any kind of virgin appeal to me because he _knows_ what I do for a living.  So what gives?  Why is he pursuing me, of all people?  Am I some kind of project?  Some kind of charity case?  I must have a weird look on my face because Kristoff asks me what the matter is, if I’m upset that he kissed me.  I turn away, unable to answer.

The answer is no, I’m not upset that he kissed me.  It’s not that I didn’t want him to, it’s that I don’t feel I _deserve_ to be kissed by him.  I’m so impure, so unworthy of real affection of this kind.  I’m good for a fuck and that’s it.  Kristoff deserves better than me.  Some tall, gorgeous blonde to match his looks, with a more sophisticated air than I have.  Someone like my sister.  Someone like Elsa, who has now started college courses and is going to make something of herself someday.

The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them.  His eyes fill with sadness.  I know that if he didn’t want to be here then he wouldn’t be, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not good enough.  I can’t understand what he could possibly see in me when he could have someone like my sister.  He tells me he has come to care about me over the past several months, and he can see past my line of work, past my façade and he _knows_ what kind of person I am.  Raising my eyebrow (in an attempt to look like Elsa), I ask him what kind of person that would be.  

My heart constricts as he tells me I’m a good person, smart, caring, selfless, vibrant, beautiful and brave.  I’ve had to grow up far too fast and deal with more than anyone my age ever should have to, according to him.  I’m worthy of all the good things that life has to offer and he wants to show me, if I’d let him, just how people can really treat one another.  He tells me I don’t have to do anything with him physically if I don’t want to, and even if we just end up being friends that’s fine with him.  Besides, he adds, Sven misses me.

A sharp laugh escapes me at that last sentiment.  Sven, bless his big, goofy heart, has tipped the scales for me.  Maybe that sounds bad, but there it is.  I tell Kristoff that I appreciate his words and that I would very much like for him to kiss me again.  He’s happy to oblige.  I may not know much about authentic affection but I do know how to kiss.  This time, however, it’s different.  I put something else into it and it takes me a good ten seconds to realize that the something else is effort.

* * *

 

It’s been a terrible day.  It started off with pouring rain on my walk to work.  Now that we’ve moved apartments, it takes me an extra fifteen minutes to walk to Ivan’s place and of course I don’t own an umbrella.  I’m soaked through by the time I get there.  

Then it was Sicko Dad Guy first thing, booked for an hour and a half appointment.  This time, he even brought some of his daughter’s _actual_ clothes with him that he wanted me to wear and parade around in, calling him ‘daddy’ and performing sexual favors.  When he leaves I just want to curl up in a ball and not move for the rest of the day, or scratch the skin off my body with nails that are six inches long.  Either one.

After him came The King and Queen and they were in piss-poor moods this morning.  Arguing with each other and then His Majesty decided I was going to be a lowly maid and he was going to smack me around a little.  If I actually thought Ivan would have given a damn, I might have tried to report them, but I know better.  After being punished for ‘being lazy whilst cleaning the castle’ three times over, they finally are sated and leave.

I got half an hour break after that and then it was three clients back-to-back-to-back.  Madame Whatever-Her-Name-Is, followed by two new clients who were pretty vanilla in their wishes but it was still exhausting.  The last guy had terrible body odor and left me feeling unbelievably nauseated.

Totally zapped, I dragged myself home.  

Now, here I am, laying on the couch listening to Elsa bang stuff around in the kitchen.  She’s pissed because, according to her, I’m ‘distant’ and ‘withdrawn’ and she wants to know what’s bothering me.  How the hell am I supposed to tell her?  Am I just supposed to say, ‘why _yes_ Elsa, there _is_ something wrong.  I’m fucking strangers for money so we can live here because God knows your waitressing job doesn’t earn enough for us to afford this place!  I’m exhausted and constantly feeling sick because of the humiliation I face daily and the revolting nature of my job’?  

Yeah, that’d go over _real_ well, I’m sure!

Minutes pass and Elsa comes back into the living room carrying plates with scrambled eggs and toast.  She mumbles an apology for making breakfast for dinner, but I barely hear her.  I’m busy staring at my toast.  She’s cut my crusts off, just like Mom always used to when we were kids.  She sees me eyeing the toast and gives me a small smile.  ‘It’s because I love you’, she tells me.  

My throat is constricting and any second I am going to burst into tears because I just love her so much that I’d take the pain of my job for a million years before I’d ever let anyone hurt her like that again.  The idea of my sister being in my place makes my heart ache.  I know she’s been there, to an extent, and I wish so much I could just dive into her brain and erase the memories that I’m sure haunt her from that time.  It’s been months now since she’s had to do that but I know she’ll never forget.  Just like I won’t.

I stare hard at my food.  I know I can’t eat it.  I don’t eat as often as Elsa thinks I should, and she is constantly trying to shove food on me in the mornings before I leave for work or in the evenings when we eat dinner together, but sometimes I just don’t have what it takes.  I’m sick from lying, sick from being used, tossed aside like a rag doll by my clients, Kristoff notwithstanding.  Closing my eyes, I whisper an apology to Elsa and stand up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: some sadness, angst (as always), and an adorable date. :) Enjoy.

** Chapter 8 **

****

Kristoff comes to see me on a Friday.  It’s the end of August, just a week before my birthday.  He must have remembered when it was because he has a bouquet of flowers for me and a birthday balloon with a giant smiley face on it.  He wishes me a happy birthday as soon as he enters the Blue Room.

I want to run to him, throw my arms around him, hug him and thank him profusely for remembering my birthday.  Instead, I bury my face in my hands and start bawling.  In a second, the flowers are sitting on the chair and he’s there, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close and I’m sobbing unabashedly into his shoulder.  My whole body is shaking and I’m sure I’m going to have a pounding headache in no time.

He holds me until I calm down, my sobs turning into occasional hiccups.  He asks me what’s wrong and I tell him.  I tell him everything.  How Elsa was working the streets and I got this job here at Ivan’s because I knew I could make enough money here that Elsa could stop.  I tell him how I told her I got a job at Hans’ dad’s factory and how I’ve been hiding my money in the bank and not telling Elsa how much I really make.  I tell him how I’ve been lying to her for almost a year now, and how she’s so worried and when she looks at me with those damn eyes of hers I just want to cave in and confess it all.  ‘I do it for her’, I say, my voice shaking.  It’s all for her.  To protect her.  To keep her safe.  To make sure she never has to hurt like that again.  To make sure she can chase her dreams - all of them - and maximize all the potential that I know she has.

My words run out and I’m left exhausted and shaking in Kristoff’s arms.  He gently lays me back on the bed and stretches out next to me.  He gently runs his lightly calloused fingers down my cheek, brushing away all the remnants of tears there, and tells me to rest, to sleep, and he’ll wake me when our hour is up.  He doesn’t have to ask twice and I gently drift away to the welcoming darkness that’s already feathering the edges of my vision.

* * *

 

When I leave Ivan’s at four o’clock, Kristoff is waiting for me.  I’m shocked to see him there, leaning against a black Acura sedan parked next to the sidewalk.  He smiles his crooked smile at me and I realize I’m happy to see him.  He apologizes if he’s being too forward, but he wants to take me out for some food, you know, to celebrate my birthday.  He’s leaving town for a business trip or else he would have taken me on my actual birthday.

I know that Elsa will wonder what became of me, so I take out my phone (I finally got a new iPhone, and Elsa has my old one because she couldn’t stand Android anymore) and shoot her  a quick text, telling her a friend is taking me out for my birthday and I’ll be home after dinner.  

 _Hans?_ she texts back.  

 _No,_ I reply. _A new friend ;)_

_You are telling me everything about him when you get home!!!!!!!!!!!_

I actually laugh.  Elsa is not usually one for exclamation points.

Kristoff takes me to a Thai place, since I’ve never tried it.  I start laughing when I look at the menu because I can’t pronounce anything on it, and it reminds me of the sister-date Elsa and I went on to that Italian restaurant.  Here, though, I’m not brave enough to try something at random, and defer to Kristoff’s judgement about what I should try.

When our food comes, I’m actually hungry.  Kristoff chuckles at the eagerness with which I attack my noodles.  He teases that it’s like I haven’t eaten in weeks.  When I don’t laugh, the smile drops off his face.  His gaze hits the tabletop and we fall into somewhat awkward silence.

‘Its okay’, I tell him after a minute.  ‘I do eat, just haven’t been very hungry lately.’  Poking at a piece of chicken on his plate, he asks if there’s anything in particular I want for my birthday.  Without thinking, I tell him I want to go skydiving.  Even I’m surprised by those words, but Kristoff’s jaw drops open and then he laughs in disbelief.  I’m laughing too, but still ask him what’s so funny.  He says he ‘just didn’t expect me to say that, that’s all.’  I shrug and keep eating my food.

When I’m done, I ask the server for a box.  I want to take the rest home for Elsa, because I know she’s never had Thai food either and I have a feeling she’ll like it.  Kristoff smiles fondly at me when I tell him, and says that he loves how much I care about my sister.  I sigh, my heart aching when I think of her.  How much I wish our circumstances were different and I really _did_ work in Hans’ dads’ factory.  How much I wish she’d never had to go through everything she has, and that I didn’t either.  How much I wish our parents were still around.  Although I know that if even one of those scenarios were true that I wouldn’t have met Kristoff, and _that_ would have been a damn shame.

However, I know that my relationship with my sister is one of the things I value most in my life, lies aside.  I know that if it weren’t for everything we’ve been through that I wouldn’t be this close with her and I just can’t imagine that.  I can’t imagine sleeping in a bed by myself.  Kristoff’s eyes widen when I tell him I share a bed with Elsa, even at almost nineteen and twenty-one.  His eyes soften and he says he can understand that.  It’s just that I’m so removed from myself and everything during my work hours that all I want at night is to feel close to someone, to feel safe.  Elsa is that person for me.  And I know I’m the same for her.  We wouldn’t have a clue what to do without each other.

* * *

 

Elsa pounces on me as soon as I come through the door.  She is talking a hundred miles an hour, asking me what his name is, how I met him, where he took me and if I’m going to see him again.  She wants to know if he kissed me, if he’s handsome, what color his eyes are and if I have his phone number.  She’s like a bouncy, blonde tornado, zooming all around me, making me laugh with her excitement.  It’s contagious.  I grab her hand and pull her to the couch, we sit down and I tell her all about Kristoff.  Everything, except for how I really met him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will pick up a fair amount in the next chapter. It's like I once saw someone put it:  
> shit..................fan  
> ....shit.........fan.....  
> .........shitfan.......
> 
> If you catch my drift!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: pain, prostitution, dissociation, violation (not rape exactly but unpleasant sexual encounter for sure), angst, grief, an Elsa freak-out and some PTSD type of stuff. Kristoff and Sven to the rescue. Hang on tight!

** Chapter 9 **

 

I’ve got a new client.  He showed up on the fourth of September.  My birthday.  He’s angry and mean.  He’s not here for sex.  He’s here to dominate, to cause pain.  He’s big and burly and I don’t stand a chance.  He forces himself on me in ways and in places I have never had to deal with before.  Places where no body part should ever go.  I want to tell him to stop, but I know that’s not part of my job description.  Had I known there would be someone like this, though, I might have insisted on a clause in my contract with Ivan.  

I’m Ivan’s top earner, so I’m the lucky one who gets to deal with this asshole.  Besides, he heard about me from a friend of a friend and asked for me specifically.  I would bet money he knows Sicko Dad Guy; they’re cut from the same cloth.

He stays for an hour and leaves me feeling so violated that I’m literally throwing up.  I’m crawling out of the bathroom when another one of our girls finds me.  Beautiful Belle, with her big brown eyes, helps me to my feet.  I don’t remember much else but suddenly I’m dressed and walking (more like staggering) out the front door, Ivan telling me I can have the rest of the day off because this guy just paid him _five_ _hundred_ dollars so I’ve earned the time off.

I don’t know how I make it home.  But I’m there and throwing up in the bathroom, but this time it’s just stomach acid and it burns like hell.  My eyes are watering and my throat is screaming but my stomach is screaming louder and I just want to disappear.  I find my way to the living room, light a fire because I’m fucking freezing even though its almost seventy-five degrees outside, and lay flat on my back on the floor in front of the fireplace.

This is where Elsa finds me.  And this is when things fall apart in a hurry.

I did hear her come in.  I did hear her call my name.  I did see her standing over me and hear her voice asking me if I’m okay, but I couldn’t get myself back down to Earth to answer her.  I was just so blissfully far away from everything that I couldn’t find my way back and I just couldn’t conjure up the energy to care about that.  

Elsa gets mad.  She almost never gets mad, but this time she’s mad and this time she’s mad at _me._   She grabs my hands and yanks me up, sitting me roughly on the couch.  She sits beside me, turned inward toward me so our knees are nearly touching.  I’m staring blankly at her because I really can’t remember what it is that she’s yelling at me for.  She grabs my face in her cold, shaky hands and _demands_ that I tell her what the _hell_ is going on with me and if I don’t tell her _right this instant,_ so help her God, she will slap the shit out of me until I give in and say something.  _Anything._   ‘Just say _something,_ Anna.’

And now _I’m_ mad because I know she won’t actually slap me but ‘damn it, Elsa, can’t you just leave me the fuck alone here in hell all by myself?  Can’t you figure out that everything I’m doing I’m doing for _you?_ I go to Ivan’s place every single fucking day and sell my _body_ for _money_ so that you don’t have to sneak out at night to work the streets anymore.  I have sex with _strangers_ , Elsa, every single day, all day long, so that _we_ can live in this apartment and so that _you_ can go to school and become an architect or a journalist or a fucking psychologist or _whatever you want_.  I do this for _you_ Elsa, because _someone_ has to take care of us and this makes good money, damn it, and I _refuse_ to let you be hurt like that _ever again._   So can’t you just leave me _alone,_ Elsa, and let my soul die in peace?  _Please?’_

Elsa is still as a statue.  Her eyes are wide and shiny and her face holds no expression.  Her mouth is open a tiny bit and I don’t even think she’s breathing.  I am, though.  I’m panting, my jaw set and my hands balled in fists.  

And then, right before my eyes, my sister’s world comes crashing down on her.  One slender arm wraps itself around her own waist and her other hand comes up to cover her mouth.  She folds in on herself like an origami swan, a devastated wail pulling roughly from her throat.  Her beautiful blue eyes squeeze closed and for a second it looks like she’s going to get sick, but she doesn’t.  She tips forward, right off the couch and falls onto the floor on her knees, clutching herself and bending forward so her forehead is nearly on the ground.  

She’s not breathing and I’m right behind her, my hands flying over her back, her shoulders, the back of her neck, whispering to her ‘I’m so sorry, I’m _so_ sorry Elsa, I shouldn’t have told you like that.  I love you, Elsa, I love you and I’d do this for a million years for you, just to keep you safe.’  I’m around the front, pulling her against me, stroking her blonde hair that’s given me so much comfort for years now, her snowflake pendant and my sun pendant no doubt hugging as well as our bodies press hard together right there on the living room floor.

I gather her up.  She’s bawling into my shoulder, her body shaking so hard that she probably wouldn’t be upright if it weren’t for the fact that I’m literally holding her entire weight in my arms.  Anna, _Anna,_ she’s gasping, her hands scrambling to hold onto the cloth of my shirt.  She’s begging me to _please_ tell her it’s not true, tell her I made it up, that it’s not the truth, but I can’t tell her that and she knows it.

God, I fucking hate when she hurts.  I hate knowing that it’s _me_ that’s hurting her like this.  I should have kept my mouth shut.  I shouldn’t have told her.  This secret was supposed to go with me to the grave.  I’m not aware I said those things out loud until Elsa responds, jerking back from my shoulder and grabbing my face again between her hands.  Her eyes are so bloodshot and tears are still chasing each other down her cheeks but she sternly tells me that _I’m_ not hurting her, that _she’s_ hurting herself, knowing that I’ve been in pain for so long and she didn’t see it.  She tells me it’s _her_ job to protect _me,_ not vice-versa, and that she’s been failing miserably and that she’s ‘so very, very sorry.’

Hearing her apologize just makes me go stony-eyed and silent.  This was never meant to happen.  She’s not supposed to apologize to me.  I’m supposed to apologize to _her_ for lying to her all this time.  I knew the information would hurt her but I didn’t expect her to turn it in on herself.  I should have, though, because I know her better than the inside of my own eyelids.  As if she’s trying to punish herself, she asks me what happened to me at Ivan’s place today.  She wants me to tell her everything so that she can bear at least some of my pain for me but I can’t do that to her.  I’ve hurt her enough today.

I can feel my eyes soften as I look at her.  ‘Come on, Elsa’, I say.  ‘You don’t need to know about that.’  We lay on the floor, me on my back with my head resting on two throw pillows and Elsa wrapped around me like a vine, her head on my chest.  Probably a most unsisterly position to be in, but I need her close and she needs me closer.  Listening to my heart beat, she drifts off, the fabric of my shirt fisted in her hand.  She needs to know that I don’t blame her, and I need her to know I don’t hold her responsible.  I don’t regret a single thing except for the way I told her the truth.  I don’t regret working for Ivan.  It kept my sister from being hurt any more by anyone else and that was the whole point all along.

* * *

 

Ivan said Belle can cover me with most of my clients for the next few days.  That makes me feel even worse because the last thing I want is to subject Belle to Sicko Dad Guy or, God forbid, the terrible dominator.  But my body is rebelling and there’s no way I’d be able to make Ivan any money right now anyway.  He tells me I have three days and then if he doesn’t see me walk back through that door, I’m fired and I won’t be getting my September paycheck.

I haven’t had three days off since I started working for Ivan.  That first night after I told Elsa the truth, she woke up probably half a dozen times and I’d hear her start sobbing softly as soon as the memory of what I’d said bloomed in her mind.  I’d tighten my arms around her, tell her I love her and ‘it’s okay, don’t cry, Elsa, I’m right here and I love you.’  Her sobs would subside and her grip would relax and she’d slip back into sleep.  When her body would relax, mine would too.

In the morning, the sun streams into the apartment and falls across my eyes.  I drag myself up from the well of sleep and find myself alone in the bed.  I panic, worrying that Elsa’s gone and done something rash because she blames herself for my pain.  But before I can worry too much, she appears in the doorway.  Her eyes are glistening but there aren’t any tears on her cheeks.  Her skin is paler than I’m used to - almost gray.  

‘Elsa’, I whisper to her, holding my hand out for her.  She approaches the bed, folding one leg under her and sitting on it, her hand cold in mine.  I need to convey to her that I don’t blame her for this.  She didn’t know.  It’s not her fault.  It’s not anyone’s fault.  It’s just the way things are, and look how much money we have.  I realize I haven’t even told her about the money in the bank that she doesn’t know about.  

She says nothing when I tell her, but gets a very faraway look in her eyes.  I can see it all clicking into place.  The sister-date.  The pendants.  The new iPhone.  She closes her eyes and asks me how long.  My voice is empty and I tell her it’s been about a year.  Her eyes snap open and she gasps.  Her mouth opens and closes for a second before she murmurs, ‘the heat, _the heat…’_ and I realize she’s talking about when I had the heat fixed in our old place.  I just nod and she nods in response, almost like she’s resigned herself to the fact that this has happened and is still happening.  She knows she can’t change it, despite how much she wishes she could.

When she speaks, her voice is firm.  She informs me that I am not going back there.  Ever.  Her waitressing job is in need of another waitress and she knows they’ll hire me.  Between the money that’s in the bank and the money we’ll both make, we can afford this place indefinitely as long as rent doesn’t shoot up.  She looks right into my eyes and tells me exactly what I didn’t know I needed to hear: that it’s going to be okay, that I’ll never have to go back there and nobody is ever going to hurt me again, either.

Her head tilts and she asks, softly, if Kristoff is from Ivan’s too.  I nod, but explain that he’s different.  He wasn’t like the other clients.  I tell her how he came to talk to me week after week, got to know me, cared for me and kissed me.  How he never laid a hand on me, despite me offering.  How he let me cry to him when I couldn’t stand lying to her.  Elsa sighs deeply and I know she’s relieved because at least there was _someone_ who was there for me when I wouldn’t let it be her.  

* * *

 

Ivan fires me.  I’m not sorry at all except that I’ll miss the paychecks.  I suggested to Elsa that I go back and finish out the month but she almost had a heart attack so I quickly rescinded that offer.  I want to call Kristoff and tell him that I won’t be there anymore but I never did get his phone number, nor did he get mine.  My chest twinges at the thought that I’ll probably never see him again, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.

Elsa’s boss, Mr. Ellery, tells her she can take five days off.  The restaurant is undergoing renovations right now, anyway, so business is slow.  Elsa is so gentle with me.  She doesn’t press me for information, although I know she desperately wants to ask.  I’m not sure why; the information would just hurt her even more but I think she feels as though she owes it to me to share in the pain.  

The whole first day after my birthday, I could barely get out of bed.  I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.  My lymph nodes were sore, likely a result of stress.  I slept on and off throughout the day.  Sometimes Elsa was with me when I awoke and sometime she wasn’t, but she was never far away.

The second day was a little better.  I ventured out of the bedroom and made it as far as the kitchen table.  I ate two meals that day, both with my sister.

The third day, Elsa begged me to go grocery shopping with her.  She said we _had_ to go get some food and she didn’t want to leave me alone.  I started to protest and say that I’d be fine, but then I realized it wasn’t that she didn’t want to leave me alone, it was that she didn’t want to be without me.  The guilt was clearly tormenting her and she couldn’t stand to ruminate on it by herself.

Yesterday, Elsa made me a birthday cake.  It was chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.  My favorite.  She apologized profusely for not celebrating my birthday on my actual birthday, but I pointed out that I was really in no shape to celebrate anything at all that day.  We threw sprinkles on the cake, and some at each other, and Elsa stuck nineteen candles in the cake.  I laughed because it looked like a torch, but she insisted.

Today is Elsa’s last day off work.  The sun is shining and it’s warm, almost eighty degrees and it’s only ten o’clock in the morning.  I’m not sure what we are going to do today, but I am confident Elsa will think of something.  

She comes out of the bedroom.  She’s wearing denim shorts, a baggy black Ramones t-shirt and flip-flops.  Her hair is in that signature braid of hers, hanging over her left shoulder. Her body language appears relaxed but there’s a shadow in her eyes.  I recognize it - guilt.  She flits around the apartment, picking up things, putting things away, pouring coffee into a mug and handing it to me.  I thank her.  She knows just how I like my coffee and that fact makes me smile.

Elsa has just issued a directive to go into the bedroom and get dressed when there is a knock on the door.  Our eyes meet quickly and then flick over to the front door.  Elsa approaches the door and shouts, asking who is there.  A muffled voice answers back ‘Kristoff Bjorgman.’  Elsa flings open the door and there he is.  I’d forgotten he had given me a ride home after taking me out for my early birthday dinner.  He hadn’t come up to the door, though, so either he’s made a really lucky guess, he’s asked someone or he’s knocked on every door until he found ours.

I come up to the door, walking slow, still feeling sluggish from lack of activity.  I ask him what he’s doing here before I come to my senses and invite him in.  Instinctively, I find myself reverting to my work personality.  My eyes are on the ground, my body language bland and unreadable, a blank canvas, waiting… waiting.  Elsa is standing back, staring at me.  She’s looking at me like I’ve just punched her.  Then she whirls on Kristoff, demanding to know how he could let me work there if he actually cared for me.  Didn’t he _know_ what was _happening_ to me there?  

Kristoff’s gaze slams onto the ground, his shoulders round and he sighs long and hard.  ‘Of course, Elsa’, he says.  ‘Don’t you think I wanted to pick her up and run away from there? he asks.  Don’t you think I thought of that every single time I saw her there?’

Elsa’s mouth is open to reply but I hold up a hand and stop her.  ‘I am an adult’, I inform everyone.  ‘I am capable of making my own decisions about where I work and the nature of my profession.  It was up to nobody but me to get myself out of there.’

That shuts them both up and their eyes meet briefly in a truce.  They both care about me.  Besides, I know Elsa was never actually angry at Kristoff in the first place, and I think he knows that, too.

Elsa invites him along on our adventure for the day, and he agrees as long as Sven can come.  My ears perk up at the mention of his goofy pooch.  Kristoff informs me that Sven is waiting in the downstairs hallway, tied to the stair railing.  I fly out the door and down the three flights of stairs, finding Sven jumping around in the hallway and fall to the ground, flinging my arms around his neck.  He sloppily licks the side of my face and his whiskers go up my nose, making me laugh.  

Kristoff and Elsa come up behind me, laughing.  Elsa asks Kristoff if we can borrow Sven because this is the most she’s seen me smile in months - maybe even a year.  Flopping Sven’s ears, Kristoff responds that we can borrow him any time we want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Still with me? It gets better after this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings except mention of sex. It's a short chapter, enjoy!

** Chapter 10 **

****

By the time Halloween comes around again, my life has changed majorly.  I now work at the restaurant with Elsa.  Mr. Ellery is a million times nicer to have as a boss than Ivan ever was.  The pay isn’t as good but my quality of life is so much better that I can’t even complain.  

Kristoff and I have been on seven dates between the day he turned up at our apartment and now.  He’s taken me to the movies, to dinner twice, to the zoo (Elsa came too because she loves elephants), ice skating, to the arcade and once we just walked around the park for two hours, chatting about everything and nothing.  Each time he drops me off at home, he gives me a soft kiss on my lips and tells me he can’t wait to see me again.  Even after seven dates, my heart still flutters when I think about it.

Tonight is Halloween night, and it’s on a Friday.  One of our co-workers told Elsa and me about a party that’s happening at one of the clubs downtown.  There’s going to be all kinds of contests and people are going to dress up and drinks are half price.  Before now, I never would have even considered going.  None of that would have been up my alley before now.  I’m still not sure it’s up my alley, but I’m feeling more and more like a, quote-unquote, normal person and this seems like something normal people do for Halloween.

Kristoff has agreed to go with us, acting as our designated driver in addition to my date.  I’m not sure I’ll actually drink anything since I like to keep my wits about me at all times, but you never know.

As we get ready for the party, I ask Elsa if she wishes she had a boyfriend.  Her hand stills momentarily as she applies mascara to her lashes, but her eyes are soft and she smiles at me in the mirror.  ‘No’, she says, ‘I don’t feel the need to have a boyfriend right now.’  Her eyes twinkle and she teases me, telling me that I’m a handful and a half to keep up with and a boyfriend would just distract her from keeping me out of trouble.  I pretend to swat her with a hairbrush.

At nine o’clock, Kristoff’s Acura pulls up in front of our building and a mermaid and Wonder Woman climb in.  Kristoff admires my superhero costume as I slide into the front seat beside him, Elsa folding herself neatly into the back.  We drive in comfortable silence and I reflect on how lucky I am to have a boyfriend who accepts my close relationship with my sister.  After everything we’ve been through, I’m not sure I could stand to let her go right now.  For crying out loud, we still share a bed!  If I don’t have a point of contact with her, I can’t sleep and Kristoff, bless him, just takes it all in stride.  Of course I haven’t yet shared a bed with _him,_ so that does make a bit of difference.

We stay at the club for almost three hours.  It’s still going full bore when I find Elsa and pull on her arm, looking into her face and saying nothing, knowing that my facial expression will convey what I’m not vocalizing.  I want to go home.  It’s loud, people are getting very drunk and starting to eschew normal social norms and etiquette.  Clothes are falling off right and left and the smell of sweat is in the air.  All these are things that hit _way_ too close to home for me, given my recent exit from the, uh, entertainment profession.

Kristoff, dressed like a circus ringmaster, has not left my side all night.  He places his hand on the small of my back and gently guides me out the door.  We end up going to a 24-hour diner in the city and eating breakfast food at three in the morning.  Kristoff tells us stories of Sven when he was a puppy and all the shenanigans they got into, and I’m snorting into my hot chocolate and Elsa’s giggling, too.  Elsa tells Kristoff about the gerbil I had when I was a kid and how it escaped from the cage once.  Elsa and I looked everywhere for it but we didn’t find it.  Finally, two days later, it turned up in Mom’s laundry basket and she flipped.  We both still laugh whenever we think of it.

Kristoff drives us home after that, giving me a sweet kiss at the door and giving Elsa a one-armed hug.  I can’t wipe the dopey grin off my face the rest of the weekend.

* * *

 

Three weeks later, just before Thanksgiving, Kristoff invites me to his house.  He lives in the top of a high-rise, which I find hilarious because the mental image of Sven careening clumsily around a penthouse is just too much.  

The view is spectacular.  It’s almost sunset and we bundle up in jackets and stand on Kristoff’s balcony, staring out at the city.  I knew he was wealthy, owning a corporation and all, but I had no idea he lived in this kind of luxury.  He’s always such a down-to-earth guy.  Sven is seated beside my feet, panting happily, looking like he’s smiling.  We watch the sunset in comfortable silence, Kristoff standing behind me with his hands on the railing on the outsides of my folded arms, his breath occasionally tickling my ear.

That night I truly experience making love for the first time.  It’s so different than what I was experiencing at Ivan’s.  Kristoff takes his time with me, loving and honoring every inch of my body before taking me over the edge with his mouth and hands.  His arms hold me close as he gently buries himself inside me, over and over, dropping his head against my shoulder as he hits pay dirt.  I follow right behind him, unable to believe the sensations coursing through my body.  I never knew it could feel like this.

That is the first night in years that I sleep without my sister.  I fall asleep in Kristoff’s arms and wake up at almost midnight, panicking, and grab my phone to call her.  She answers, sounding half asleep, and I ask her if she’s okay.  She says she’s fine, she knows I need to be somewhere else tonight, and that she’ll see me tomorrow.  Her voice is soft.  I know she misses me, and I miss her, but we will survive without each other.  I know we will.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No chapter warnings, but this one takes place 3 years after the previous one.

**Chapter 11**

**(Three years later)**

 

It’s midnight.  I slip out of bed, leaving the slumbering form alone under the sheets, and pull on sweatpants and a hoodie.  I silently slip out of the house, head down to my car and drive away into the night.

Six minutes later, I throw my car into park, climb out and run across the dark street.  I knock loudly on a door and watch as lights flick on and the door opens.

There stands my sister, looking like a piece of heaven.  Her braid is messy but her eyes are clear.  I throw myself into her arms, sobbing like I haven’t done in ages.  She catches me, just like she always does, and pulls me into the house, kicking the door closed after me.  Through my tears I manage to tell her that Kristoff and I had a fight and that I just couldn’t stand to stay there another minute, even though he’s sleeping now.

She pulls back from me, holding my hands, the light glinting off the diamond on my left hand.  Kristoff made an honest woman out of me six months ago, but it’s still Elsa I turn to when I need comfort.  Some things never change.

Gently, Elsa leads me to her bedroom.  She pulls back the covers and I slide in, letting her familiar, comforting scent envelope me.  She crawls in after me and pulls me close, just like we did for years.  As she hums to me, the same song from years ago, I twirl the end of her braid in my fingers, brushing it against my cheek.  She’s still my security blanket.  I love Kristoff with all my heart, but Elsa will always be home to me.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: discussion of childbirth and pain. Happy chapter! Love love LOVE! This one takes place three MORE years later (3 years after the last and 6 years after the beginning of the story).

** Chapter 12 **

**(Three more years later)**

It’s an incredible sight and my eyes are as wide open as they can possibly be.  The energy in the room is palpable and I’m lightheaded and grounded all at the same time.  Kristoff, beside me, is literally shaking.  His hand clutches mine, fingers interlaced, gripping tightly as we take in the scene before us.

My sister, my beautiful, selfless, smart-as-a-whip sister Elsa, curled around her own self in pain on a hospital bed, white-knuckling the rails, eyes squeezed shut, legs wide open, swollen belly spasming and hardening, nurses and doctor coaching her to push, push, _push._ Sweat glistens on her forehead.  Her hair, in its usual braid, is unraveling over her shoulder.  The cords and muscles in her neck stand out sharply.  She’s working so hard.

It’s my baby.  Mine and Kristoff’s.  It took years of therapy for me to feel remotely ready to move on with my life.  When I was unable to get pregnant again and again, despite our best efforts, I went to the doctor.  My uterus turned out to be the problem, not my eggs and not Kristoff’s sperm.  So what we needed was a surrogate.  Elsa, without a second thought, agreed to do it.  The look on Kristoff’s face when she said that was one I’ll never forget as long as I live.  My egg, Kristoff’s sperm, Elsa’s uterus.  The three of us, just as it’s always been and just as it’ll always be.

Leaning toward me, Kristoff’s question of ‘can she do it?’ hovers in the air between us.  I know she can.  My sister can do anything.  She is strong.  She is determined.  She is brave.  I nod my head — it’s all I can do.  The words tangle up in my mouth.  She may be tiny — all baby — but I know she can do this.  Her body was built for it.

Her contraction ends and Elsa falls back against the raised bed, panting, eyes closed.  Her long, thin fingers release the bed rails and her hands fall limply to her sides.  A bead of sweat rolls down her temple, disappearing around the curve of her jaw.  She’s exhausted.  She’s been pushing for almost two hours.

Weakly, she speaks.  ‘Ice.’  Kristoff lurches into action and grabs a plastic cup full of ice chips off the table and gently slides some into Elsa’s mouth.  Even from feet away I can see that her lips are chapped, dry, and I know she’s absolutely parched.  

In all the time I’ve known my sister, which is now twenty-five years, I’ve never seen her look like this.  So exhausted.  So spent.  So vulnerable.  So strong.  So lovely.  Even during the year before I met Kristoff, when she would cry herself to sleep every morning after coming back home.  Even when she found out I’d been lying to her about my job for a year.  Even when I moved in with Kristoff and she was on her own for the first time _ever._   

Her eyes are open, glassy and vacant.  Her mouth is open just a little, her jaw slack.  Her skin is pale, dark circles adorning the undersides of her eyes.  Her forehead and chest glisten with sweat.  Her lips are cracked, dry and flaking.  It looks as though this child is killing her, eating her alive from the inside out.  

I watch, transfixed, as another contraction builds within my sister.  I can see it coming, just as sure as she can feel it.  Her eyes widen and then squeeze shut.  She’s trying to hold it off, to spare herself the pain as long as she can.  Her epidural has long since worn off and she can’t do anything but _exist_ through the pain.  This is her burden to bear, even though I wish it was mine.  It should have been, but my body betrayed me.

The doctor, looking like a catcher behind home plate, tells Elsa that this one should get things moving.  How she can tell that I don’t know, but this is her profession so I have no reason to doubt her.  Elsa nods her head minutely, and grips the rails again, chin to her chest, jaw clenched, pushing, pushing, pushing.  

I swear Kristoff is going to faint any second as our baby’s head starts to come forth.  I can see it, shiny and smooth — not a lot of hair.  Elsa is completely silent, pushing with every ounce of energy and focus she has.  Her tiny body is taut like a bow, her belly misshapen with the strength of her contraction.  

My mouth opens and words fly out.  ‘Elsa!’ I cry.  ‘You’re doing it!  You’re doing it!’  Not the most eloquent thing I could have come up with to say but it’ll do.  A strangled cry rips from Elsa’s throat as the head makes its way out, and then the contraction ends and my sister goes limp, in the strange position of having a child partially in her and partially out of her.  

‘One more,’ the doctor says.  ‘Hardest push you have.’

Kristoff sits down, shaking.

I want to reach out and touch my sister but my feet are rooted to the spot.  I can’t move at all.  I want to cry, to laugh, to scream in elation, but nothing comes out of my mouth.  All I can do is stare.

On the next push, the nurse only manages to count to four before the child slips out, tumbles out, _pours_ out.  Elsa collapses back against the bed, her face smoothing out in relief.  

She did it.  She really did it.

The tiny child flails tiny arms in the air and kicks tiny feet.  A tiny mouth opens and a tiny cry bursts forth, filling the room with the music of new life.  Kristoff is on his feet at once, surrounding the nurse, helping to wrap the little squirming soul in a blanket, cord still attached and pulsing.  Kristoff beams that it’s a girl.  A girl.  A daughter.

My feet can move.  I rush forward and grab Elsa’s sweaty face in my hands.  I press my lips against her damp forehead.  ‘I love you,’ I whisper, over and over.  ‘You did this for us.  I can’t believe it.  I’m so proud of you.’

She’s panting, a smile flickering across her face.  She’s exhausted, so tired, so far gone from the trauma and pain of the last twenty-four hours.  But she hears me.  ‘For you,’ she breathes.  ‘For everything you did for me.’  She hasn’t forgotten.  Neither of us ever will.

* * *

 

It’s Christmastime and our daughter, Eva, is just over eight months old.  She crawls everywhere, puts everything into her mouth, babbles and giggles and is the apple of everyone’s eyes.  Her blonde hair is the same color as Kristoff’s and her eyes are just like mine.  Interestingly, her facial structure reminds me of Elsa’s baby pictures, but I guess that’s not such a surprise given that she and I are related.  The genetics are in there somewhere but I like to think it’s because Elsa carried her, built her, protected her for nine months before giving her over to Kristoff and me.

Baby Eva crawls over to her Auntie Elsa who is sitting on the floor, her back against the couch.  My sister’s eyes light up as my little girl clambers up over her legs and does a slobbery faceplant into the skin of her chest.  Elsa’s laugh ruffles the fine, feathery hairs on Eva’s head as she picks her up and she is rewarded with a gummy smile.

I stand by the Christmas tree, watching my sister and my daughter interact.  Eva has no concept of the fact that Elsa gave birth to her — or does she?  As my baby snuggles into Elsa’s neck, her big, aquamarine eyes fluttering closed, I wonder if she knows her scent.  I wonder if she knows her heartbeat.  The hum of her skin.  What does Eva remember?  Does she know that Elsa’s body was once her home?  

There is no question that my sister and my little girl have an incredibly strong connection.  Even Kristoff comments on it from time to time.  That’s one thing I love about him: he’s incredibly accepting of my persistent closeness with my sister.  We see Elsa several times a week, and he accepted her right along with me as part of the package.  My sister and I are intertwined, emotionally and now physically in the form of Eva.  Elsa can never truly understand how great of a gift she has given Kristoff and me.  She gave us life.  She gave us Eva.

Kristoff slides up behind me, his arm snaking around my waist, thumb hooking into my belt loop.  I lean into him, all planes and muscle behind me, and sigh.  I am so, so happy.  The demons that haunt my memories are locked away for now.  They come out to play at night sometimes, but Kristoff is always there to bring me back to reality, wipe my tears and whisper that everything is okay.  And on the occasions when that’s not enough, I know I can always call my sister.

** The End **


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